


No We're Not In Paradise

by justanothervisitor



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Blood and Violence, Commander Lexa (The 100), Crush at First Sight, Crushes, F/F, Femslash, First Crush, Natblida Conclave (The 100), Oneshot, Polis, The 100 Femslash, Tragic Romance, Violence, Young Lexa (The 100), Young Luna (The 100)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:29:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22135579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanothervisitor/pseuds/justanothervisitor
Summary: Lexa develops a crush and a close friendship with a girl who'll she one day have to face in a battle to the death. Explores the childhood friendship of Luna and Lexa from Luna's arrival in Polis to the day of the Conclave. Oneshot.
Relationships: Lexa & Luna (The 100)
Kudos: 5





	No We're Not In Paradise

Today had been less monotonous than most of Lexa’s days at Polis, as two new _Natblida_ had been brought to join their group. Luna and Kaldur; siblings from the Ocean Clan. The pair seemed gentle—too gentle. Lexa could sense their reluctance from the moment they were brought to the dormitory and introduced. They were much older than any of the other Nightbloods had been when they first arrived, which made Lexa wonder if they had hidden the blood. 

She knew that Floukru was one of the more peaceful clans. Perhaps that was due to its isolation, surrounded as it was by the calming waves and endless sea. It made sense that a peaceful people would want to protect their children from the tradition of the Conclave.

Lexa’s own parents had never thought to protect her from such—instead, they raised her to believe that her entire life’s worth amounted to being Commander. She was only fifteen now, but she could already fight better than most grown warriors. She’d never gone a day without fighting in her life, and on most days, she devoted hours to it. 

When Lexa looked at her fellow novitiates, she saw layers to them that often confused her. On one layer, they were her closest friends. On another, they were her rivals. She would have to kill them all one day if she were to fulfill her destiny. She had nightmares about it all the time.

The waking hours offered Lexa the most respite, because she’d trained herself to contain her emotions and be numb to them. But at night, when she had no control over the workings of her mind, she found herself screaming, covered in blood, crying, running, shaking…begging not to have to do it. She even dreamed about losing the Conclave, looking up into her friends’ eyes as they circled around her and plunged daggers into her heart…and sometimes she dreamed about sneaking away, only to be found by her mentors and killed by their hand instead. 

It was a difficult life, but it was the only life Lexa had known. 

She felt sympathy for the new arrivals, Luna and Kaldur, and also curiosity. They were exactly her age, whereas the other _Natblida_ were a few months to a few years younger— except for Johan, and he was slow. Lexa’s age and skill had made her the unofficial leader of the group, although there was healthy competition in light of everyone’s purpose. It was Lexa who tried to make newcomers feel at home, but it was also Lexa who interrupted their childish antics and reminded them why they were here. They weren’t allowed to be children, even though that’s what they were…they weren’t _allowed_ to be, and she saw to it that everyone remained realistic.

So when she went to Luna and Kaldur, she wore a neutral, serious expression—one that looked decidedly out of place on the soft, round face of a fifteen-year-old girl. The twins had time enough to settle, and now Lexa was ready to get down to business. Nodding a greeting at them, she extended a hand. **“Lexa.”** she introduced. On the inside, she was saying _sorry that you have to be here_ , but on the outside, she said, **“Spechou kom yu Natblida. Monin au Polis.”** _Congratulations for your Nightblood. Welcome to Polis._ After shaking their hands, she gestured with her head back at the other novitiates, who were all watching curiously. **“Oso gaf au get yu gonplei.”** _We want to test your combat._ This was the Nightblood way of making friends. They couldn’t play regular children’s games to get to know each other, but they could spar.

“We do not fight,” said Luna.

Lexa frowned, but she liked Luna straightaway. Lexa herself didn’t know if she’d met _anyone_ who didn’t fight, so this made the new girl interesting…as well as somewhat tragic. **“You will have to learn,”** Lexa answered. If the twins did not fight, they would suffer in training and they’d stand no chance in the Conclave. Lexa supposed she should be grateful for that, since she fully intended on winning—but she didn’t want to win unfairly. The Spirit had to choose her, and the Spirit would choose the most worthy. The three pillars of being Commander were wisdom, compassion, and strength—so compassion was an important thing to cultivate, and compassion was what she was feeling here. **“I can teach you,”** she told them. This time her voice was like a hero’s voice, or so she thought, and it made her self-conscious. She looked at the other _Natblida_ and then back at Luna and Kaldur before correcting herself. **“ _We_ can teach you.”**

Kaldur stepped forward. “I’ll fight,” he said.

Lexa gave an approving nod. She pulled two knives from the belt around her waist andoffered one to the Floukru boy. **“The rules are against cutting each other,”** she said. **“This is just practice. Just to see what you can do—where we should start.”** There was no need for any blood to be spilled today, but they were Nightbloods, and Nightbloods didn’t use wood to practice with. Lexa had seen some of the older warriors training with wooden swords once, and her mentor—Anya—had scoffed at them. So Lexa scoffed at them too now. 

She stepped back into the clear of the room, and waited for Kaldur to join her. **“The most important things about training are self-discipline and confidence,”** she said, raising her dagger and taking up a defensive stance. She gave a nod to show that they could begin. **“Kaldur,”** she said, **“you can make the first move.”**

Every now and then, the Nightbloods _did_ cut each other during their spars, but in the whole of the last five years there had never been anything too serious. Johan had caught a blade with his pinky finger once, and it had sliced the nerve and tendon clean through. He hadn’t lost the finger, but it was as good as useless now; sometimes the younger _Natblida_ would ask him to try to move it, and he’d hold up his hand and twist up his face, the pinky finger no more than giving a twitch. It annoyed Lexa when they did that. Hopefully Kaldur was more mindful.

Kaldur fumbled with the knife and eventually found a grip that worked for him, then he shifted around until he found a workable stance. Looking determined, the boy thrashed the knife toward Lexa with wild—but thankfully predictable—movements. Lexa blocked the advance with her own blade, the metal singing high and clear. **“Widen your stance a little,”** she suggested. **“it’ll help with your balance.”**

With a small push of her blade, Lexa stepped back and held an exemplary stance. **“Keep your chin tucked to protect your throat, keep your shield hand turned inward and keep it up to protect your face.”** She turned her free hand in an example, exposing the wrist and then concealing it. **“Your feet should be in a triangle, one in front of the other, but apart—like this.”** She rocked on her feet a little to show the solidity of her footing. Then she waved her knife playfully from side to side, one corner of her mouth tugging upward. **“And always keep your eyes on the weapon. Fight the _knife_ —the goal is to disarm me.”**

She lunged her arm forward, moving in a practiced, fluid motion to catch Kaldur’s blade. The metal sang again when he lifted his arm and blocked, and Lexa’s smile widened. **“Good!”** she said. Her eyes flickered back to Luna, still curious about her, wondering if she was listening. The lesson was meant for her just as much as it was meant for her twin. As soon as the sun rose tomorrow they’d all be out in the arena doing some _real_ training, and Lexa didn’t want to see either of the newcomers get hurt. It was easy to slip up and slash a wrist or nick an elbow. 

After a few more minutes went by, Lexa decided to end their short introductory match. With Kaldur’s next advance, Lexa caught the blade against her own and shoved hard, sending the boy tumbling to the floor. Lexa grinned and stood over him. **“That was good, Kaldur. You’ll catch on quick.”** She kicked the knife out of his hand and toward his sister, looking at Luna with a question in her eyes. Everything about the girl was interesting to Lexa and she _really_ wanted to see how she’d fight. **“Luna?”** she asked, stepping away from Kaldur so that he could get back to his feet. Even though the Floukru had said they didn’t fight, Lexa figured she’d try again. Now that Luna had seen Lexa fight her brother, maybe she wouldn’t be so shy.

Luna kicked the knife away and the question in Lexa’s eyes became skeptical. She was accustomed to having things go her way. No one had ever acted toward her like Luna was acting now, and it stirred up a lot of mixed feelings. On one hand, she was annoyed—Kaldur had followed the unspoken rules of the knife fight, so why wasn’t Luna? On the other hand, she was impressed. Luna’s action was a challenge to Lexa’s authority, albeit a subtle one, and wasn’t that how it was supposed to be? Lexa wasn’t _supposed_ to have any authority here, they were all supposed to be competing for that. It was her energy that claimed her position; Lexa was confident, and she’d been intending on becoming Commander for the better part of her life. When she spoke to the other Natblida, she didn’t speak to them with the trembling fear of someone who might lose. She spoke to them with a tone of compassion for those she would one day defeat. 

But here was Luna. Kicking aside her knife. Rising to the same level as Lexa without any hesitation or fear. It was intriguing, especially since she was no trained fighter—or so Lexa assumed by what she had said. Her confidence was compelling. Even though Kaldur had been the one to step up to the knife fight, he had done so without question. That meant he was a follower. 

Lexa knew right in that instant that Luna stood a better chance than any of the others. She had a Leader’s disposition and it bled through every pore.

With a flick of her wrist, Lexa tossed her own knife behind her, sent it hissing along the stone to the feet of the Nightbloods that watched them. The energy of the whole room had shifted. Perhaps they could all sense what was going on. The others always gave their best effort in training, but Lexa often wondered if any of them ever _really_ thought they stood a chance. She could taste their fear in the air when she faced them sometimes, like a snake tasting the air, dead-still before she made a strike, feeling into all their subtle frequencies. 

Luna was calm. Lexa met her stoic expression with a similar neutrality of her own, all traces of her former smile now dissolved into the seriousness of the moment. She watched the Floukru take her stance and raise her fists, her eyes never straying.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Luna said. 

Lexa nodded, taking up her own stance. Tasting the air. 

Then she made her strike.

She aimed her punch at Luna’s stomach. It was a move that could easily be parried, but Lexa just wanted to see what her opponent’s skill level was. Luna’s energy did not betray her nervousness such as Kaldur’s had. She was calm, cool, and collected. Strong. Difficult to read. Those were the most dangerous sorts of people, Lexa thought…but they were also the most exciting.

Seconds after Lexa threw her punch, Luna moved in and grabbed her wrist, twisting Lexa’s arm in such a way that it was soon pinned behind her back. Surprised, Lexa breathed a jagged, startled breath. The action had brought them very close to each other— _very close_ — and she couldn’t restrain her gaze as it dropped from Luna’s eyes to her mouth and then back to her eyes. Lexa remained still, catching the hint of satisfaction in the corners of those eyes. It certainly got Lexa’s heart racing. Maybe she’d finally met her match. 

Lexa wasn’t used to weapons-free combat like this. She wasn’t used to the closeness of it, she wasn’t used to…touching people. Not with anything but a blade. Blade on blade.t= Weapons maintained a healthy distance, as it was _touch_ that bonded people to each other. The thought alone made her expression darken, and when Luna pushed her away Lexa considered demanding that they go back to knives. She could have a knife at Luna’s throat in a matter of moments, she thought. She wouldn’t hurt her, but she would show her who was boss. Show her that _she_ —Lexa—made the rules. 

She narrowed her eyes and conjured a smirk of her own, largely because the one on Luna’s face unsettled her so much. _You can do this_ , she told herself. The other Nightbloods might think her weak if she went back for the knife instead of playing fair; it would be an obvious display of temper, and although it might scare the majority into submission, Lexa had a feeling that it wouldn’t have that same effect on Luna. No—Luna was too strong of personality. She was tough. She was more like Lexa than any of the others could ever even hope to be. 

It was annoying that Luna was beckoning Lexa to attack again. It was clear that the other girl’s strength was defense—and although it was wise for her to be working with her strengths, it frustrated Lexa. But she didn’t let it show. **“You’re going down, Luna kom Floukru,”** she said with a glint in her eyes. Then she rushed at her, keeping her head tucked and her eyes watching the girl’s hands, her own arms reaching wide with the intention of pinning Luna’s arms against her sides and taking her to the floor. If this was to be a wrestling match, let it be a wrestling match. The first step was getting Luna to the ground, and then they could roll around and see who dominated who. 

It was _more_ intense than a knife fight to Lexa, in many ways. Some of the other nightbloods wrestled with each other, but Lexa didn’t really like being touched at all if she could help it. It made her feel less in control. It made her think about things that she felt like she shouldn’t think about. With a knife, she was comfortable. She understood knives, she understood blood, she understood the language of metal singing with metal. In a knife fight, she could indulge her body’s instinct to avoid being touched—her survival depended on it, after all—but hand to hand combat was entirely different. It was too intimate, and she couldn’t afford to have that energetic exchange, that bond, with any of these people whom she would one day have to slaughter.

Luna hit the ground. Lexa straddled her and pinned her arms, and instantly Luna relaxed. All her struggling just…stopped. Their eyes met, Luna smiled, and Lexa…blushed. It hadn’t been too awkward when the Floukru was struggling, but with her body soft and warm and relaxed, with Lexa sitting on top of her, hands gripping at the other girl’s skin—well, needless to say, it _did_ feel awkward. She liked the sensation, but it alarmed her that she liked it. She fell right into the trap when Luna’s eyes slowly averted as if she were looking at something interesting off to the side. Lexa’s eyes lingered on that face, but only for a split second before they followed into a moment of distraction.

—Upon which she instantly found herself being thrown aside. The limp body beneath her suddenly surged with strength, catching Lexa off guard and rolling with her to change positions. Lexa’s eyes shut for a moment as she hit the ground, her head knocking against the stone floor. Annoyance surged through her. Now Luna had _her_ pinned, and Lexa looked at her with fire in her eyes, attempting to kick her way free. 

**—one year later—**

Lexa growled under her breath, looking up at Luna like she’d done so many times in the past year. The Floukru had taught her a whole lot about wrestling, and they had become quite close from their frequent tussling around. Nobody could best Lexa as often as Luna could—and indeed, it had planted the seed of fear in the Trikru’s heart. The other Natblidas meant almost nothing to her, but Luna…well, that was a different matter entirely. 

Right now, Luna had Lexa pinned in a most uncomfortable fashion, with one arm twisted above her head and the other trapped beneath her body and pulled taut at the wrist. Their bodies were entwined and close, so close that Lexa couldn’t tell whose heartbeat was whose. They’d been at it for at least a half-hour already this evening, and the day had been full of training with the others. 

**“Ok,”** Lexa muttered bitterly, straining her muscles and testing for some sort of escape. There was none; she was tired. **“Ok, you win.”**

She tried to push Luna off of her by bucking her hips—and just at that moment, there was a knock at the door. Titus entered, giving the two girls a cursory glance and then scanning the room, presumably for the other Nightbloods. Lexa and Luna were alone in the common room; the others had, perhaps, already gone to bed, or perhaps they were sharing ghost stories. Lexa didn’t know, and Titus didn’t ask. It was common for these two to spend time away from the others.

The look on Titus’s face was grim; he tried to appear neutral, but Lexa could see the whiteness there. “The Commander has died,” he told them plainly. “Tomorrow you will face your destiny at the Conclave.” He bowed his head and left.

The words put a rock in Lexa’s stomach.

This was too soon. 

Luna rolled off of her and they both sat alone, stunned. 

Lexa looked at the floor, unable to face Luna as she struggled to gather her composure. Her heart was still racing from the wrestling match, but now it began to thud so hard that it hurt. She shut her eyes, hoping that the wild rush of emotions that assailed her was hidden from her friend. Lexa could show no weakness. She had to be strong. _The Conclave_. Everything she had prepared for; everything that she knew she would one day face. Everything that had inspired her to subdue her emotions, numb them, ignore them, restrain them…it was here. Tomorrow would begin a new era.

It made Lexa feel sick. 

“Congratulations on your Ascension,” Luna said. Her words sounded hollow. 

Lexa shook her head. Not _yet_. She wasn’t the Commander yet. Imagery of tomorrow’s inevitable slaughter ran rampant through her mind; the faces of all the other Natblida flashed by, one by one, the details more clear than ever before. Life in their eyes. Smiles on their mouths. Youthful innocence, trained into a mature neutrality that only sometimes succeeding in masking the truth. They were children. They were her friends. They were good people, good warriors, full of dreams and goals and secrets. And Lexa was meant to take that all away.

Lexa inhaled deep and slow, and finally, she looked at Luna. It was like a knife to the heart. She couldn’t hide her pain in that moment—not while looking at Luna, not while looking at the only other human being whom she’d ever truly been close to. She couldn’t do this. Who decided it was okay to make her do this?!

As the brutality of her people sank in, Lexa felt another wave of nausea. She closed her eyes again, shook her head again. 

_“_ Tomorrow our journey ends….and yours begins, _”_ said Luna _._

The words made Lexa panic. No! She couldn’t…

But she had to.

**“This…”** she said quietly, opening her eyes and finally managing to get some words out, though she spoke them at first to the floor. **“This is the only focus I have ever had in life. Winning the Conclave. Becoming Commander.”** She looked at Luna. **“But it seems…wrong.”** She’d never admitted such a thing aloud. Titus would probably strike her for suggesting that the Religion of the Flame, which required children to fight to the death, was wrong. He lived for nothing else, and the People followed blindly.

Lexa took another breath, still attempting to calm herself. Luna had taught her a lot, not only about wrestling, but also about peace; Luna was strong, but she was not violent. She hadn’t killed once in the whole year that she’d been here. **“If the Spirit does choose me, I swear this will be the last Conclave to be fought like this.”** They both knew how it was to be fought. **“But Luna…”** Lexa reached out, touched her friend’s shoulder. **“The Spirit might choose you. You are just as strong as I am, and…maybe even more worthy.”** Luna would be a good leader. Perhaps she could bring peace to the Clans, perhaps she could stop all the killing.

Lexa looked down again, let her hand fall away and back to her side. She would not cry, but she felt the sorrow that—in another lifetime—would have started rivers down her cheeks. Her fingers curled into fists, converting that sorrow into an anger that had no voice. **“I don’t want to lose you.”**

Luna was calm and consoling, and Lexa should have been calm too—she was _trying_ to be calm, and she was succeeding in part. But secretly, Lexa was in chaos. She didn’t want to kill anyone, and certainly not the Nightbloods. Who had come up with such a sick, twisted custom?! She’d always known about it, always thought she was prepared…but now that the moment was here, Lexa did not feel prepared in the least. The Natblida trusted each other. Despite themselves, despite their purpose here in Polis, they had grown close. 

Luna reached out and unfurled Lexa’s hand, and Lexa’s eyes opened again. She looked at the other girl, her own eyes wide and swimming with more words and feelings than she could ever dare to express. Luna attempted an optimistic smile, and Lexa tilted her head back, looked at the ceiling, blinked a few times, breathed. She couldn’t kill Luna. She would never forgive herself. She would never forgive herself for killing _any_ of the Nightbloods, but…Luna was special. This world needed people like her.

Lexa’s mind raced in an effort to evade her destiny, as so many had called it, but she found herself powerless. The only way she could attain any sort of power or influence was by winning. She had to win so that she could prevent this from happening again. 

She looked back at Luna, but she didn’t know what to say. She tried to imagine herself slitting Luna’s throat, but the imagery was too painful for her to linger on. Instead, Lexa stepped forward and drew her friend into a tight hug. She hugged her as if their lives depended on it—but ultimately, she knew their lives were forsaken either way. This would be the last time they would ever touch. No more hugs, no more wrestling, no more _anything_. She felt Luna’s warmth, her presence, her life. This body that she knew so well from all the times they had fought together. Practicing, but also playing. This body that she had dreamed about…more times than she could even count. She’d dreamed about them wrestling, she’d dreamed about them running away from Polis together, she’d dreamed about… _other things_ …happy things…ecstatic things…things that made her wake up flushing and embarrassed, looking around to make sure no one else saw and worrying if she might have spoken or _done anything_ while she was sleeping… 

But Lexa tried not to think about it. 

The two of them were ruled by fate, and dreams were only dreams.

Reality was cruel.

She wanted to tell Luna that she couldn’t kill her, but even thinking about the words made her stomach turn. Lexa _could not_ allow herself to overthink this. She had nothing but her destiny to look toward now. And yet…

_“_ You’re more than a purpose…Don’t stop being Lexa _”,_ said Luna.

Who was she, then? Who was “ _Lexa”_? Was she someone who killed her closest friends simply because someone else told her to? …She hugged Luna tighter at the thought of it. Perhaps she could kill Titus instead…would the people still recognize her as their Commander, then? Would the other Natblida agree to stand behind her in exchange for their lives?

Lexa forced the fantasies to come to an end, and she broke the hug, stepped away. For a moment one of her hands lingered, lifted on its own accord and brushed across Luna’s cheek… _she was so beautiful._ Everything about Luna still enchanted Lexa like it had on the first day they had met—and that sense had grown, the better they had gotten to know each other. But Lexa knew it foolish to dwell upon. This was destiny. _Destiny._ She let her hand fall away. **“If I live…I will never forget you,”** she said.

Their time together was drawing to an end. What seemed eternal only moments before—before Titus had entered with his grim news—was now like a hourglass, bound by the pressure of time that was quickly—too quickly—slipping away from them.

Lexa could see the vulnerability in her friend’s eyes; the soul, raw and sad, revealed through Luna’s usual walls of neutrality. Both of the Natblida were holding back tears.

Luna wished Lexa well and then frowned. Lexa nodded, pulling herself together. As much as she wanted to reach out and touch Luna again, just one last time…or take her hand and lead her to her bed, cuddle with her all through the night, explore every inch like she had longed to do, savor every last second…it would only be more painful that way. Lexa closed her eyes and visualized barriers rising all around her heart and her emotions, locking them inside, fortifying the walls with extra strength so that nothing could escape. Perhaps she was more than a purpose…but it would do Lexa no good to be _Lexa_ right now. This Conclave was the pinnacle of her destiny, and before she could be Lexa, she had to become Commander.

_“_ Goodbye, Lexa. _”_

**“Goodbye.”**

Luna turned around and began to leave, and Lexa watched her go, taking a deep breath and sending its energy toward solidifying those emotional barricades rather than letting them falter. Tonight Lexa would have to empty herself. Although she was only 16—and she had barely been a child at all in the past decade—she could no longer afford herself anything that looked remotely like weakness. Her people would be watching for that.

**— the next morning : day of the conclave —**

The people watched closely.

A thousand pairs of eyes followed the Nightbloods as they walked, blank-faced, toward the arena. Lexa walked at the front, kept her gaze trained on the destination, made no eye contact with any of her peers. All morning the Natblidas had been silent. They ate their last meal together in silence, they meditated in silence, and now they walked in silence. Lexa had not allowed herself a single cursory glance at any of them, but she felt their presence around her and she saw their shapes from her peripherals. Lexa had not even allowed her thoughts to stray, though her thoughts certainly tried. _I can’t—_ ** _I am Commander._** _This is wro—_ ** _I am Commander._** _But Lun—_ ** _I am Commander._** Lexa could allow herself only that single thought, the thought of being Commander, and she had to bring it back to the fore of her mind with every bit of doubt and guilt that tried to dissuade her. 

The crowd parted as the Nightbloods walked, all of them straight-spined and seemingly confident. The crowd cheered, whispered, laughed, drank. Smells of piss and stale sweat wafted in the air, soon to be joined by blood. Hundreds of people had gathered here to watch the massacre, and the vibe that rippled through them was one of festivity and excitement.

But it was not so for Lexa. She bit down the sense of dread that rose in her with every footfall. She bit down the sharp burst of anger that flared when she saw Titus standing in the arena, his hands behind his back, patiently awaiting to tell the Nightbloods to fight to the death. She bit down one last wave of panic as they entered the arena and she felt Luna’s body brush past her, taking up her place in the circle. In moments, all nine of the Natblida faced each other, but Lexa did not look at any of them. She looked _through_ them, at nothing, at no one.

Titus stepped forward and began his address. He went on about the Flame and the Spirit of the Commander and detailed the rules, and Lexa slowly scanned the faces of those she was matched with. Luna stood opposite her, looking uncomfortably bright despite the situation at hand. Lexa did not linger on her face, did not want to catch her eye, did not want to _see_ her. She had to perceive every one of her fellow Natblida as nothing more than vessels right now. Vessels for the nightblood, candidates for the Spirit. Illusions.

Finally, the moment came. Titus called for weapons to be drawn and exited the arena. He lifted his hands, and the crowd fell into a hush. Lexa took a deep breath and told herself that death was not the end. 

It began. 

With a knife in each hand, Lexa turned toward the closest opponent—the one who was _not_ Kaldur. She would not make Luna’s brother her first kill, so she consciously turned away from him, turned toward one of the younger ones instead. Eyes met eyes and Lexa felt a stab of pain ricochet through every cell in her body. It was emotional pain, but it felt like it was physical. She lifted her weapons toward the younger Nightblood, a boy who was no more than 13 years old. His life on this planet had barely begun…and yet his time had already run out.

The boy lifted his blade to defend himself, and the metals shrieked. Lexa could see his fear, she could see the water budding in the corners of his eyes and the desperation with which he tried to hold it back. He didn’t want to die, but he was embracing his path with dignity. Lexa wanted to say something to comfort him, wanted to tell him how strong he was. She wanted to give him a second chance… But instead, she gritted her teeth and fought. She dodged his frantic stabs, she channeled her existence fully into the Now. She entered into something of a trance state.

And she killed him.

Her knife found itself plunging up beneath the boy’s last rib, puncturing his kidney, sending him down. Simultaneously, she dodged an attack from someone else who had thought to sneak up behind her. The crowd was cheering and yelling and calling out names. Lexa bit back a wave of nausea and turned to the new attacker, her senses heightened, adrenaline already pouring itself through her system.

Singing metal, gurgling yelps, cheering onlookers.

The bodies fell.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lexa saw the fight between Luna and Kaldur. Her dagger was matched with that of another young Natblida, and as the girl ducked, Lexa saw the siblings drop to their knees. Panic rippled once through her system, eyes widening as she grasped for an extra second of time to see which of the two had been hit. 

It was a mistake; pain replaced the panic as a blade ripped through her arm. Lexa snarled, her focus narrowing back onto her opponent. Adrenaline mixed with anger, rage, hopeless suffering. She fought like a wild animal, spinning and jabbing and yelling when she made the kill strike. Black blood sprayed from her opponent’s throat, speckling Lexa’s face and armor. 

She looked back toward Luna, breathing heavy, heart racing.

Luna. 

Alive.

Luna cradled Kaldur, who bled. Another Natblida charged toward them, recognizing the opportunity within Luna’s lowered guard. Lexa was there in an instant, plunging a knife into the Nightblood’s back, then yanking it back out when he spun around.

The whole thing happened quickly.

The boy fell, dead, and Lexa found herself facing Luna. The two of them were the only ones left. Lexa’s dagger was tight in her grip, but it loosened when she looked at her friend. Her body froze. She couldn’t take a step…she couldn’t make the kill. The pain from her wounds began to set in as she caught her breath, eyes locked with those of the other girl, the crowd cheering them on with an insatiable lust for blood. Nothing could be said. Nothing could be done. Around them, seven bodies continued to bleed and die. A coldness began to settle in. The cheers of the crowd became hollow, distant. 

_Luna,_ Lexa thought, remembering their hug, remembering their wrestling matches. This was it. …Was destiny really so cruel?

Luna lifted her knife, and Lexa did the same. There was a breath. Then Lexa charged.

Luna turned around and bolted into the crowd.

Lexa came to sudden halt and reeled to catch her balance. The crowd began to yell now, its excitement mixing with anger and surprise. Luna pushed her way through the bodies, most of which parted easily given the knife she was brandishing in their faces. No one tried to stop her. She vanished. 

Dizzy with shock, Lexa wandered back to the center of the arena, stepping over Kaldur’s body and biting back the urge to throw up. 

Titus lifted a hand. Quiet whispered through the crowd. “Lexa kom Triku,” he said. “The Flame has chosen you. People of Polis — your new Commander.”

Movement rippled through the crowd, and one by one, every single one of them kneeled. Lexa looked at them, looked at Titus, looked at the bodies of her friends scattered and dead around her. She looked at the black blood that was smeared and clotting on her weapons, and the black blood that was dripping from the gash in her arm. She looked at the blood in the arena and the pool of it around Kaldur, and then she looked back in the direction that Luna had fled.

Finally, Lexa let the knives slip from her hands and fall to the dirt. She scanned the crowd, drinking the moment’s power. Thousands of warriors kneeling for her. Bowing for her. Pledging themselves to her.

She had lost her friends, but she had gained an army. She had done it. She’d been chosen. 

She was Commander. 

**“Rise,”** she said, loud and confident and steady.

They rose and began to cheer. _“Heda! Heda! Heda!”_ The sound was like an eruption. It made her dizzy all over again, and a heavy wave of exhaustion descended upon her.

It was done.

This was it.

This was destiny.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Instagram to stay up-to-date with my writing! @brittfosterauthor
> 
> Thanks for reading <3  
> Comments and kudos make me happy


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